


Proudwing

by yaakov



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Stannis finds an injured goshawk on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proudwing

**Author's Note:**

> It's been three years since I wrote this, and I still haven't thought of a better title.

The sky was cloudless and blue, but the ground was still damp from the last night's rains. A boy crept through the dense trees, his eyes focused on the brush below his feet. He'd seen his tenth name day a week ago, and though tall for his age, he was still rather scrawny. With a scowl on his small face, he shifted the heavy wooden bow slung across his back. Then the boy paused, squinting as he peered through the trees.

Lord Steffon, his father, had given his two sons a competition. If either of them made a kill before he did, Lord Steffon would have a new bow made for the winner. Strong, polished wood, a new set of fine arrows, and designed just for the lucky boy. Robert, the eldest, had killed his first stag when he was slightly older than his little brother was now. In a sense, it was unfair - Robert was older and bigger, and he was a more experienced hunter. Besides, Stannis didn't plan on being small and ten forever, so he was bound to outgrow the new bow he might win. But if he made his first kill today, Stannis would beat Robert in more ways than one. Robert had been almost eleven when he brought down the stag, and Stannis was barely ten. Despite his disadvantages, Stannis was determined to win.

But the woods were still and silent. The only visible tracks were Stannis's own footprints, and as the sun continued its climb, the air became hot and humid. Stannis sighed, pushing his thick black hair off his brow. It was hopeless at this point. Even so, he couldn't bear turning back empty-handed. His father's men were probably tracking Robert's kill as he stood there, stubbornly watching for the game that would never appear.

A loud rustling broke the stillness, and Stannis felt his heart pounding. He spun around, waiting for another sign. There, again, was the same sort of rustling, but this time it lasted a bit longer. He crept towards the sound, cautious and watchful. It sounded like feathers, so perhaps a large animal had taken down a sort of bird. As quietly as he could, Stannis pulled the bow from his back and cocked an arrow. However, as he stepped into a small clearing, he slowly lowered his weapon.

A lone bird lay flailing and shaking on the ground. Stannis cast his eyes over the scene, making sure a more dangerous creature wasn't lurking behind the trees. Carefully placing his bow on the ground, he approached the anxious bird. It was a goshawk- a young one, judging from its size and soft patches of feathers. One of its wings was clearly broken. It flapped its good wing frantically, but the other lay bent and unmoving.

"'S all right," Stannis muttered, reaching out a tentative hand. Again, the bird tried to escape, but this time more feebly. One orange eye fixed on the boy, and it looked terrified. Then again, Stannis thought, didn't all birds have that look - a wide-eyed, unblinking stare that would pass for fright in a person? Suddenly he felt silly, petting and _talking_ to an injured bird.

He stood up and dusted his knees. As he bent to retrieve his bow, though, another bout of rustling made him turn. Once more, he caught the bird's bright orange eye, and Stannis felt a pang of pity. Could he really leave this bird to die? It wouldn't die on its own, but soon enough a predator would find it. And it was a fine bird, really, if not for its injured wing.

"I"ll have to bundle you up so you don't panic," the boy mused. The weather had been too warm for a cloak, however. A quick look around told Stannis that all the cloth he had was the shirt on his back. Groaning, he peeled off his shirt, but he did feel better without the damp fabric sticking to him. Careful not to spook the bird, he rolled the white cloth around it. It took a bit of balancing to manage the bird and his hunting gear, but Stannis reckoned he'd make it.

When he finally reached the castle yard at Storm's End, he was hot, ill-tempered, and aching. Sure enough, a group of men were milling about, admiring a huge stag lying in the grass. 

"I couldn't believe it! I stopped, and there was this monster, just drinking from a stream. By the time father grabbed his bow, I'd already nailed him."

"Seventeen prongs! Shouldn't be setting such records for yourself at this age, Robert. They don't get much bigger than that!"

"STANNIS!"

He stopped, almost dropping the hawk. With the show Robert was putting on, Stannis hadn't expected anyone to notice him. As a huge, greying man came striding towards him, he found himself wishing that no one had.

"Where in the seven hells were you? Going off by yourself like that! Are you mad, boy?"

"Let him be, uncle! My sons can take care of themselves." Another man, younger but even larger, turned to look at Stannis. When he saw his youngest son, Lord Steffon burst out laughing. Stannis flushed, realizing how silly he looked - skinny, sweaty, and shirtless, clutching a feathered bundle to his chest.

"What's that?" his father boomed, nodding at the thing in the boy's arms.

"A hawk," Stannis replied shortly, placing the bird and his gear on the ground. Promptly, a groomsman picked up the bow and quiver, giving the bird a curious glance.

"You got something too?" Robert bounded over to his brother, reaching to pull back the shirt. Stannis swatted his hand away.

"Don"t touch him! He's hurt."

Robert snorted. "You're not supposed to bring 'em back alive."

The bird started flapping again, tangling itself in the cloth. Stannis quickly scooped it up.

"Don't be so loud! You're scaring it. And I didn't hurt him, something else did. I found him like this."

His lord father had followed Robert over. He still looked mildly amused, but a frown creased his brow. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to keep him. I'll take him hawking once he's better. Maester Cressen should know how to set his wing."

"Don't you go bothering Cressen about this bird, Stannis. You found him, so he's your responsibility."

"Yes, Father."

"So, did you see it, Stannis? The stag?" Robert interrupted, apparently bored with his brother's bird.

Stannis squinted across the lawn. "Yeah. His prongs are uneven."

"What! He's got so many it doesn't matter. How many prongs does your kill have? Oh, wait." Robert doubled over laughing while his little brother glowered.

"Robert! Are you going to help with this deer or not?" Lord Steffon called as he and his uncle headed back.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...."

Sighing bitterly, Stannis turned to enter the keep. As he climbed stair after stair, he shushed the bird to keep it calm. Finally, he reached the maester's study, and he pushed open the door.

Maester Cressen put down his quill and looked up, a distracted look of irritation on his face. When he saw his visitor, though, his expression softened.

"Stannis. What have you got?" He stood from his desk and crossed the room. As Stannis laid the bird on a small table, Cressen leaned over curiously.

"It's a goshawk, Maester. I found him while hunting. Look, his wing's broken."

"Hm, I see." Cressen moved closer to examine the bird. "How was the hunt, by the way."

"Robert killed a seventeen-point stag," Stannis said flatly.

"Ah, excellent," Cressen rejoined lightly. "And you?"

Stannis was silent on the matter, his jaw set stubbornly.

"Do you think he'll heal? I can set his wing if you tell me how."

"I believe so. She will be fine. She's still quite young."

_"She?"_

Cressen chuckled. "It appears your friend's a female."

"Oh." Stannis frowned.

"Not to worry. Female goshawks often grow larger than their male counterparts. She may turn out to be a fine hunting companion."

Cressen moved over to a set of drawers, searching for a small splint and bandages. "Have you thought of a name for her?"

Stannis shook his head. "I wasn't expecting it to be a girl."

"She'll make you proud, don't you worry. Now, hold her wing still, and I'll bind it."

"I'll keep her in my room." As the bird began jerking, Stannis ran a finger over her head to keep her calm.

"Are you certain? She could stay with the other birds."

"No, I don't want her to get hurt again. Besides, I found her. She's my responsibility."

Cressen smiled, trying not to laugh at the solemn look on the young boy's face. "Very good. Now, give her a bite to eat and let her rest. We can check her wing in a few days, but keep it bound for now."

Stannis nodded and picked up the bird. She was already getting used to him, he noticed. She didn't look quite as scared. As he gently stroked the bird, Stannis grinned slightly.

"Thanks, Maester."

"Any time, my boy."

He quietly made his way down to his chambers. As he rounded each corner, he prayed his lady mother wouldn't see him running about half-dressed. He smiled down at his new friend. She'd grow up big and strong, and hopefully she'd be quicker than Robert's silly old falcon. Maester Cressen was right, he would be proud that he'd saved her.

"You'll be great, won't you, Proudwing?"

The bird gave a squawk, and Stannis dashed gratefully into his rooms. Proudwing needed her rest, and he needed fresh clothes and a warm bath.


End file.
